Poetry Disconnect by Hannah Faoileán

No message icon on my line,
just silent numbers switching time.
No pocket thrum, no programmed song.
My pining heart hangs on.

Last time you rang, I sang with glee –
you told me you would soon be free.
But silence speaks of words unsung,
of promises undone.

I check and wait, say it's ok.
You're busy every other day.
You'll text or call before too long.
But silence says I'm wrong.

I fool myself – it soothes my fears:
You'll text. You'll call. It stalls my tears.
But numbers change and time moves on.
Your silence lasts too long.

I scroll through screens. I find your name.

My finger hovers, waits again.

I press delete. My heart goes numb.

This time I know you've gone.

 

[Hannah Faoileán]

No message icon on my line,
just silent numbers switching time.
No pocket thrum, no programmed song.
My pining heart hangs on.

Last time you rang, I sang with glee –
you told me you would soon be free.
But silence speaks of words unsung,
of promises undone.

I check and wait, say it's ok.
You're busy every other day.
You'll text or call before too long.
But silence says I'm wrong.

I fool myself – it soothes my fears:
You'll text. You'll call. It stalls my tears.
But numbers change and time moves on.
Your silence lasts too long.

I scroll through screens. I find your name.

My finger hovers, waits again.

I press delete. My heart goes numb.

This time I know you've gone.

Shortlisted in a Writing Magazine competition.

 

[Bloo]

No message icon on my line,
just silent numbers switching time.
No pocket thrum, no programmed song.
My pining heart hangs on.

Last time you rang, I sang with glee –
you told me you would soon be free.
But silence speaks of words unsung,
of promises undone.

I check and wait, say it's ok.
You're busy every other day.
You'll text or call before too long.
But silence says I'm wrong.

I fool myself – it soothes my fears:
You'll text. You'll call. It stalls my tears.
But numbers change and time moves on.
Your silence lasts too long.

I scroll through screens. I find your name.

My finger hovers, waits again.

I press delete. My heart goes numb.

This time I know you've gone.

Wow.

 

[Katie-Ellen]

No message icon on my line,
just silent numbers switching time.
No pocket thrum, no programmed song.
My pining heart hangs on.

Last time you rang, I sang with glee –
you told me you would soon be free.
But silence speaks of words unsung,
of promises undone.

I check and wait, say it's ok.
You're busy every other day.
You'll text or call before too long.
But silence says I'm wrong.

I fool myself – it soothes my fears:
You'll text. You'll call. It stalls my tears.
But numbers change and time moves on.
Your silence lasts too long.

I scroll through screens. I find your name.

My finger hovers, waits again.

I press delete. My heart goes numb.

This time I know you've gone.

A story of self-reclamation. The person in the poem did the needful thing. The only thing.

 

[Peyton Stafford]

On the other hand...